


Wait for Me There

by irisbleufic



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Gen, M/M, POV Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-01
Updated: 2006-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Parker and Dr. Gould have a difficult conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait for Me There

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in November of 2006.

_There's something_ , thinks Edward Parker as he makes his way to the headmaster's office, _about the mechanism of memory that we can never fully escape. When we'd rather just forget for a while, someone reminds us that there's more work to be done. I'd get out of this job if I could. I'd let someone else do it—except I'd never forgive myself if I did. It's not my responsibility, I don't have the authority, but what I do have is memory. At least that's what he's hoping. What I'm hoping is that it will be quick_.

Parker knocks on the mahogany door and folds his hands in front of him. From within, there's the squeak of a chair over a century old and his superior's tired voice saying, "Come in."

Dr. Gould looks as if he hasn't slept in two weeks—and, indeed, that's how long it's been, almost to the day. His smile hasn't changed, and for that, Parker is grateful. He takes a seat across the desk from the headmaster and refuses the offer of tea. Something about the room is colder than it used to be, and something about the teacup is sacred.

"Edward, I'm very sorry to call you here," begins Dr. Gould, sighing heavily. "The board of trustees would like to see this matter resolved as soon as possible. Albert Trotta has donated a sum of money larger than any we've seen in a long time, and his only insistence is that a modest portion of it is put to this cause. Are you certain you don't need a drink?"

"Yes," Edward replies, leaning forward. He opens his mouth to ask how much money it is and what's to be done with the remainder, then closes it again. These are questions he knows full well he can answer: it's not half a million, but it's not a paltry few thousand, either. The rest of it ought to be used to open a fund in Joey's name, scholarships for students in hardship. The briefing with all those parents made it plain enough.

Dr. Gould nods, lowering his eyes for a moment, and clears his throat.

"The board of trustees thinks it ought to be something unobtrusive," he says, carefully. "It's not that they aren't grateful. It's just that they're…painfully aware of where the money has been, as it were. We're to find some kind of compromise if we can."

_When they turned over the sheet, I was sure I knew what I was going to see. I was so certain that Billy Tepper was going to get himself shot before anyone else that I didn't notice the things in plain sight that would've proved me wrong. The shoes. The shape suggested by the bloodstains. The way the gurney straps fit. When they turned over the sheet, the sun caught on silver._

_I can't say that I didn't wish in that moment that Billy had died, too._

Parker raises his head. "A compromise? It sounds to me like they mean something that can be stuck in a corner somewhere, out of sight and out of mind. I'm afraid I can't agree to that. My boys are heroes. Even Joey, for all that he made a fatal mistake."

"I understand that, Edward," Dr. Gould replies, gently, "but the board is unwilling to have anything too prominent or centrally located on the quad. They've made themselves clear. I'm not proud to admit that I pushed them to it. It's why I've called you here. You knew him better than I did. I thought you might have some suggestions to satisfy all parties involved. You know his _father_ better than I do."

_And I know Billy better than you do. I know things that I might've been happier never knowing about both of them, but there's no turning back. I don't know whose bullet killed Enrique Cali, but the moment I fired, I hoped it would be mine. The shot was Billy's to take, and I took it for him. Sometimes, I wake from nightmares where I hit Billy instead. With his dying breath, he thanks me, and Cali laughs._

"With your permission, sir, I suggest that we consider a place that might have meant something to the boys," Parker says, before he loses his resolve. He can feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and wishes he could ask to borrow Dr. Gould's handkerchief. Instead, he continues, "That is, if you think it would be appropriate."

"The board may not," Dr. Gould admits, tilting his head, "but then, they wouldn't have to know, would they? I imagine most of the places dear to the boys are off the beaten track as it is. Heaven knows that cellar was. I was almost sorry to see it sealed up."

_Billy had been trying to protect them, but I wouldn't let him. He was perfectly willing to claim Joey was back in the room. Would he have done that for the rest of them, I wonder, or would he have said where they were was none of his business? Joey was always his business; Joey always came first. Maybe it was the reason I asked about him before I asked about the others. I remember the look they exchanged when Joey and Snuffy came out of hiding. Billy was sorry, and Joey forgave him without so much as a blink._

"Well, that rules the cellar out, doesn't it," Parker points out, attempting a smile. "I'm sure the board would have been just fine with it.

Dr. Gould chuckles, but if there's any mirth in his voice, the melancholy drowns it out.

"They didn't say it _couldn't_ be placed in the quad," he tells Parker. "We can keep that for a last resort. Can you think of a spot in any of the buildings?"

_There's a study room in the library where they spent hours on end. The log book will bear witness until the librarian decides she can no longer hold the records. The tables are old and heavy, and amongst the carvings, there are two sets of handwriting—inasmuch as penknife strokes are handwriting—that I know better than most. I'll never know which one of them carved the heart: it has both Joey's artistic skill and Billy's careless surety. The letters inside sustained splinter damage in the carving, too delicate for even Joey's exacting care._

_J [illegible]_

_+_

_[illegible] T_

"That's difficult," Parker says, frowning deeply. His mind is on a path it shouldn't follow. "I know a lot of places they spent time together, but they're hardly what you'd call strategically unobtrusive. What they are is strategically undetectable."

"Hm," Gould mutters, clearing his throat again. "That's problematic."

_I've had very few reasons to spend a lot of time in the locker rooms, but every once in a while, there's a bit of trouble. What happened that day after soccer practice wasn't Billy's fault, but what I remember best about that day is what Billy did. After I'd finished talking to the coach and the perpetrator, I caught a glimpse of him in the farthest corner of the back block of lockers, and Joey was with him. They were talking—nothing in particular, I'm willing to guess, but Joey seemed upset and Billy seemed concerned._

_He cradled Joey's hand to his chest with both of his own, listening._

_Billy Tepper doesn't listen._

"Somewhere in the foyer to the auditorium, perhaps?" Dr. Gould suggests. "Mr. Bradberry procured Mr. Trotta's help on a few of the sets, as I recall, and they were rarely done so well."

"Billy wasn't into the plays as much," Parker says, and closes his treacherous mouth.

_They went to the vending machines during one rehearsal in spring of this year. I'm perpetually amazed that they never saw me or anyone else when they didn't want to. I'd always known the expression "living in each other's pockets" had come from somewhere, but I'd never seen it so effortlessly in practice, either. Joey's hands seemed to fit Billy's hips better than any of his ripped jeans._

"Billy?" asks Dr. Gould. "Are you suggesting we ought to honor him for his...indiscretions?"

"No," Parker says quickly, harshly. "No, I'm not."

"This is proving most difficult," says Dr. Gould, and for the first time Parker notices the intense strain of concern in his aged features. "Ought I not to have troubled you?"

"No," Parker says, automatically, then realizes he's applied the wrong word. "No, I mean—yes, you should have. Billy has enough to deal with, and so do his friends. I'll do right by them if I can."

"It's doing right by Mr. Trotta and his father that I'm most concerned about."

"I don't care about doing right by his father," Parker admits, leaning heavily on the desk. "He gave us the money, and he gave us free choice on the matter of the memorial."

"Well, yes," Dr. Gould responds, reluctantly. "He did, but—"

_The third time I called Joey to my office, it wasn't about another fight he'd started or a prank that he and Billy had played. It concerned a message that his father had sent—events set in motion, vaguely described, that were a potential threat to the life of anyone close to Albert. I included the corresponding newspaper report, because Joey would find out sooner or later, and I wasn't about to treat him like he was five. By the end of it, he was shaking with rage, and there was nothing I could say to calm him. He wasn't afraid; he was livid._

_I might've yelled at Billy for hanging around in the hallway, but the minute I opened the door, Joey ran to him. I'd like to say I closed the door quickly enough, but I didn't. I'd never forget that split second of Billy holding him like anything_ but _a child._

"I'm having a hard time with this, I confess," Parker said, unable to keep his voice from breaking. "If I were to tell you the number of places that I consider important to them, the board would throw up their hands and toss out the proposal altogether."

"Perhaps the quad is best, then," sighed Dr. Gould, reaching across the desk. "Edward…"

"Give me a minute," Parker said, raising one hand, and closed his eyes. 

_If I can't escape them, so be it. I'll let them come to me, and I'll follow._

_Along both sides of the quad, there are archways that form small, shallow alcoves. There is nothing remarkable about any of them. The sunlight is blinding this afternoon; the leaves have barely begun to turn. The courtyard is empty of students, and the place where a burned-out police car once lay is alive again, green grass and sandy gravel._

_In one of the alcoves, there is a pair of voices. A few steps on and the boys don't look up: they're sitting on the bench, side by side, talking. They're turned toward each other ever so slightly, heads bent, certain of their collective brilliance. They agree on something._

_Joey Trotta reaches up and touches Billy Tepper's cheek._

_Billy has never looked so surprised in his life, but it's nothing to the ease with which they kiss. It's brief, nothing showy—they seem aware of eyes in the bricks, the overhanging ivy, the trees—but Joey leans in and rests his head on Billy's shoulder, and rests._

"The quad might do," Parker says, finally, and takes a pen from Dr. Gould's canister. 

He asks for a piece of paper, which the headmaster hands him without hesitation. His sketch isn't good, but in this act, he's honoring both of them, and he hopes that others, too, will find a moment's rest. Dr. Gould seems satisfied, and he promises to show it to the board.

 _Later_ , Edward Parker thinks as he makes his way back to his apartment, _I'll have to tell Billy. Perhaps I'll find him already there, as I have a dozen times since we were permitted to return, and perhaps from now on he'll no longer have to be alone._


End file.
